


Breakaway

by mukeclemmings



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, hockey player!michael, it's not really graphic, journalism student!luke, there's a major injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-21 13:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2469896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mukeclemmings/pseuds/mukeclemmings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke was paying thousands of dollars a year to study journalism at university so that he could get a job at Rolling Stone, not Sports Illustrated. So, why had Luke, of all people, been assigned to write an article on hockey superstar, the university’s golden boy, Michael Clifford?</p><p>(Michael is a college hockey player and Luke is a journalism student who <i>hates</i> athletes.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on a larger fic that I'm really excited about at the moment, so this is just a little something that I wanted to write for fun!  
> I feel like it may be awful and confusing, so please, please let me know if you'd like to read more!  
> This is edited by me, only, so please excuse my mistakes!  
> *Also, I tried to stray away from too much hockey talk, I'm sure some of you don't care about the sport all that much!

**October 9th**

Time was moving in slow motion for Luke, for everyone in the arena. Luke spectated among the fans from twelve rows back. Two rival players were chasing the puck across the ice, one jersey an unfamiliar dark burgundy and the other with a name and number 92 matching the borrowed jersey that Luke wore, a bright red with white accents. The burgundy player stuck his stick out to reach for the puck, catching number 92’s skate in the process. 92 fell to the ice, tripping up the other player in the process. The slick ice continued to carry them at full-speed right into the boards. There was a loud _crack_ , and then the arena erupted in gasps. 

Luke jumped to his feet as the burgundy player slowly rose to his as well. The glass above the boards separating the fans from the ice wobbled menacingly. Luke’s hands were balled into fists, hidden by the long sleeves of the jersey he was wearing. His chest tightened more and more every second. 

_Get up. Just get up! Please!_  

But, number 92 didn’t get up. A sea of bright red jerseys surrounded number 92 on the ice, shielding him from the view of fans and cameras. A man in a polo, a trainer, raced onto the ice and broke through the barricade of teammates. Moments passed, and the entire arena was silent, no one moving as they waited for number 92 to rise.

But, number 92 wasn’t rising. A stretcher was carried onto the ice by a few more men in polos and the players in red dispersed to allow the trainers to raise the stretcher, now with number 92 atop it, and exit the ice. 

Luke watched intently. 92’s gloves had been removed, but his helmet remained on his head. 

_Look at me. Move a finger. Something!_

_-_

**Eight Days Prior, October 1st**

  _You’ve got to be kidding me_ , is all that is going through Luke’s mind. Luke was paying thousands of dollars a year to study journalism at university so that he could get a job at _Rolling Stone_ , not _Sports Illustrated_. So, why had _Luke_ , of all people, been assigned to write an article on hockey superstar, the university’s golden boy, Michael Clifford?

 

Luke’s glaring daggers into the professor’s head. Half of the classroom is glaring daggers into Luke. Literally _everyone else_ wanted this assignment.

It isn’t anything personal. Luke doesn’t _know_ Michael Clifford, doesn’t know anything about him. In fact, Luke has never come in contact with the boy. Luke just doesn’t like sports, and he _really_ doesn’t like athletes. And Michael Clifford is an athlete.

But, Luke fights through the day, nonetheless, only dreading five o’clock, when he has to be at the ice arena to meet up with Michael Clifford.

-

It's five o’clock, and Luke's standing in the hallway waiting for Michael Clifford to exit the locker room. However, the players aren't even in the locker room yet. Luke can hear the coach screaming from the direction of the rink.

A man in a black polo shirt walks by and seems a bit surprised to see Luke standing there. “Oh, are you the kid doing the story on Clifford? Coach’ll probably keep ‘em a little longer today. Bad loss yesterday. You can go out and watch, if you want.”

Luke sighs heavily and mumbles a ‘thanks’ before he trudges upstairs to sit in the seats surrounding the ice. He sits a few rows back, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. There are a few other people watching - three girls who are giggling and whispering sit in the front row right at the middle line of the ice, a couple of other men in polos stand at an entryway behind Luke. 

The coach continues yelling at the players. They all look exhausted, occasionally stopping and doubling over to catch their breathe, all except one. Luke’s watching number 92 closely, he’s the only one who continues to skate nonstop from one end of the ice to the other. There are no names on the back of these jerseys, as they are practice jerseys, but Luke has an idea. This idea is confirmed when the coach blows his whistle to signal the end of practice. Number 92 takes off his helmet, revealing a mess of _red_. And, Luke knows _that_ much about Michael Clifford, because no one else on campus has hair that’s _red_ like that. Luke makes his first mental note about Michael Clifford: _show off; wants everyone to know that he’s everything they’re not._ And this is why Luke hates athletes. 

So, Luke sighs again before pulling himself out of the seat and heading back down to the hallway he was waiting in before.He taps his foot impatiently because, honestly, _how long does it take to change_? Before long, however, players start spilling out of the locker room. Some throw unpleasant glances at Luke, but most of them ignore him completely. They’re all tall and broad shouldered, they all look alike, Luke thinks. But, it’s nearly impossible to miss when the locker room door opens to reveal the man with bright red hair peeking out from underneath a backwards baseball cap, with two other men at his side. They are laughing about something, and Michael Clifford nearly walks right on by Luke without a thought. 

Luke squares his shoulders and clears his throat. “Um...”

One of the boys walking with Michael Clifford stops and turns to Luke, causing the other boy and Michael Clifford himself to turn around.

Luke just stares at Michael Clifford for a moment. A wide, warm grin remains from the conversation he was having with his friends. He’s got a piercing at the end of his right eyebrow. Luke looks down and sees three bands tattooed and wrapping around his right arm, near his elbow. He’s not what Luke was expecting, up close, but at the same time he’s _everything_ Luke was expecting. The piercing and tattoos make it known that he thinks he’s tough, but his face looks to be kind and upbeat. Luke’s almost _mesmerized_. 

“Oh, uh,” Michael Clifford looks to his two friends. “I forgot, this kid’s interviewing me for the school’s magazine. I’ll catch up with you later, yeah?”

His friends nod and they bump fists with Michael Clifford before they continue on down the hall, leaving Luke staring at Michael Clifford (totally not in awe).

“So, uh, what’s your name?” Michael Clifford asks, readjusting the strap of his equipment bag on his shoulder.

Luke snaps out of his daze. “Luke. Hemmings.”

“Alright. Well, uh, I’m Michael.” Michael Clifford nods his head slowly. “Is there some place you wanted to go to do the interview?”

“Um, well, actually it’s not just an interview? Um, I’m supposed to, like, talk to you a bit every day for, like, a week. Like, get to know you and write about your life, instead of just about hockey, I guess?”

“Oh, well that’s cool. Kinda gets boring answering the same questions about my favorite shootout move, y’know?” Michael smiles.

“And also, it’s not for the school’s magazine. It’s for one of my journalism classes. But, the best stories are going to be in the magazine.”

“Your’s better be the best then. I need the free publicizing,” Michael laughs. “I’m kinda hungry. Do you want to grab something while you... _get to know me_?”

Luke smiles, figures that _maybe Michael Clifford isn’t so bad_. “Sure.”

Michael Clifford drives, because he has a large, black, expensive, SUV. (Your parents can afford to give you a nice car when you have a full scholarship to university.) They end up in a small diner on the outskirts of campus, small as in ‘there are only six booths in the entire building and a few seats along the counter.’

Michael Clifford slides into one of the booths, and Luke sits on the other side. Michael Clifford grabs two of the menus that are setting on the edge of the table, handing one to Luke.

“You ever been here before?” Michael Clifford asks.

Luke shakes his head. “What’s good?”

“Everything! But I usually just get the burger. And fries. And a chocolate milkshake.”

Luke orders the same thing, because he doesn’t want to hold up the ordering process for Michael Clifford. The red-haired superstar grins when he hears Luke order.

“So, what do you want to know?” 

Luke puts on his glasses and pulls a pen and small notebook out of his back pocket. “Um, what are you majoring in?”

“Business.”

Luke jots that down to keep from rolling his eyes because _how generic, an athlete majoring in business_. “What classes are you taking?”

“Economics, management, some computer science class...”

“Are you doing well in them?”

Michael Clifford’s eyes widen. “Uh, well, that’s a little personal, don’t you think?”

“I thought you liked getting questions that ‘weren’t about your favorite shootout move,’” Luke fires back.

Michael Clifford stays silent. 

“Fine. Why did you choose to major in business?”

“I don’t know, because that’s what everyone else on the team is majoring in?”

Luke can’t stop the eye-roll this time. Michael catches it.

“What?” Michael asks. “What else was I supposed to choose?”

“Something you are actually interested in! What do you plan on doing after college?”

“Playing hockey! I was drafted by the Kings!”

“What about after that, though? You can’t play hockey forever.”

“Then I’ll get on SportsCenter or something. Do commentating.”

“Why didn’t you major in journalism then? Commentating is like broadcast journalism.”

“I don’t need to go to _school_ to learn how to talk about hockey.”

Michael Clifford was quickly re-earning the title of stereotypical jock in Luke’s book.

The food arrived, thankfully, giving the boys a distraction from each other. Michael Clifford was angrily scrolling through his phone as he shoved french fries into his mouth. Luke nibbled at the burger but the uncomfortable situation has ruined his appetite.

They each pay for their meals before Michael Clifford says, “Um, so, I’ll take you back to the arena, then.”

Luke points out his car, and Michael Clifford pulls up beside it. Luke reaches for the handle to open the door, but pauses.

“Look, I don’t have very much time to write this and I know you want to have it done as soon as possible too, so let’s just meet up again and I’ll try to get everything I need and then we won’t have to deal with each other any more.”

Michael Clifford nods. “I have practice tomorrow, again. See you after, yeah?”

Luke doesn’t respond, just opens the door of the SUV and hops out. He quickly unlocks his car and slips inside, waits until he can see Michael Clifford driving away, and then he cries.

And maybe Michael Clifford isn’t _as_ bad as those football players at Luke’s high school, but Michael Clifford is still an athlete. And Luke _hates_ athletes.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke 'gets to know' Michael Clifford a bit better; _it_ happens.

**October 2nd**

Luke’s still not excited about meeting with Michael Clifford. He enters the arena a few minutes later today and waits outside of the locker room.  
 ****

“Where are we going today?” Michael Clifford asks when he exits the locker room and approaches Luke.

“There’s a classroom in the journalism building that’s empty.” Luke had decided that today, they were going to be professional, since going to _dinner_ together for their first meeting hadn’t gone so smoothly.

“Okay. Do you want to take your car today?”

“Oh. Um, I took the bus here today, actually.”  
  
“It’s cool. I can drive again.”

And this is already awkward. But Luke gets into Michael Clifford’s SUV and directs him to the journalism building, unsurprised when the hockey star doesn’t know where it is.

They take a seat in the empty classroom, not too far away, but far enough apart that it feels less uncomfortable.

Luke tries to get the information that he needs for his article by asking dumb, generic questions like ‘ _when did you know you wanted to play hockey_ ’ and ‘ _was there any other time when you thought about doing something else?_ ’ and _‘how are you able to balance hockey, schoolwork, and a social life_?’

And then they leave. And Luke realizes he’s screwed.

-

**October 6th**

Luke had finished the rough copy of his article. So, why was he standing in the arena hallway outside of the locker room?

Michael Clifford walked out and almost jumped when he saw Luke waiting for him.

“Uh, were you, like, waiting for me?” Michael Clifford asks.

Luke nods. “Um, yeah. I had an upperclassman read my article. He said it was shit, that he couldn’t really get a feel for who you are through it. So, I guess _I_ need to get a feel for who you are first. Um, I hope it’s okay...”

“Yeah. Sure. Did you have something in mind?”

“Do you want to go to that arcade on the edge of town? They sell pizza too.”

“Yeah,” Michael Clifford nods.

Luke offers a small smile. “You’re going to have to drive again, though.”

Michael Clifford smiles back.

-

Luke and Michael Clifford had engaged in a very intense game of air hockey, and Michael Clifford won, unsurprisingly. They’d played some dumb racing game and a few rounds of skee-ball, and now Michael Clifford is standing in front of a pinball machine.  It is obviously a one-player game, but Luke is content with standing to the side and watching the way Michael Clifford’s face lights up every so often. In fact, he barely hears Michael Clifford ask if he’s ready to get some pizza, only breaking out of his trance when Michael Clifford looks up at him and his green eyes shock him back into reality.

Luke nods quickly.

“If you want to go find a table, I’ll order the pizza. What do you want?”

“Whatever you want. I’m getting to know _you_ , remember?”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t learn a little about you along the way,” Michael Clifford shrugs, but heads off to order the pizza nonetheless. 

Luke picks a table in the corner to try to avoid the noise as much as possible, not that the place is all that crowded on a Tuesday night. Michael Clifford finds him easily, and set the pizza between them at the table.

“So, why do you hate hockey players? Have you even _tried_ to play hockey?” Michael inquires as he shoves a piece of pepperoni pizza into his mouth.

Luke avoids the first question. “No, I can’t even skate. Like, _really_ can’t skate.”

“Then why do you hate hockey players so much?” Michael Clifford persists.

“I don’t hate hockey players. I hate athletes.”

“But, _why_?”

Luke doesn’t say anything, focuses on the pizza in front of him and takes small bites to keep his mouth full at all times.

“Well, I’m not so bad, right?”

Luke smiles at that. “No. You’re not so bad.”

“Do you want to do something again tomorrow?”

“No,” Luke grimaces. “I have this awful meeting, actually. But, I’m free Thursday. I could meet you at the arena again.”

Michael Clifford grins. “Sounds like a date.” And then his smile is fading and his eyes are widening. “I- No, I didn’t mean date. I-I just, y’know. I meant, like-”

He’s cut off by Luke’s laughter. “That line is so cliche.” But Luke leaves his phone number on a napkin (in case Michael Clifford needs to cancel, or something. Totally not so that he can call him and ask him on an actual date).

-

**October 8th**

Luke meets Michael Clifford at the arena after practice, like always. This time, however, Michael Clifford exits the locker room and meets Luke in the hallway with his skates on his feet, and the equipment bag that’s usually hanging from a shoulder is nowhere in sight.  
 ****

And _wow._ Luke is a bit taller than Michael Clifford, but Michael Clifford with _skates on_ seems to tower over Luke.

“Oh, sorry, do we need to reschedule?” Luke asks.  
 ****

“No! But, uh, we’re staying here today,” Michael Clifford grins.

Luke’s confused, but follows Michael Clifford back into the locker room when he motions for him to do so.

There are still a few guys in the locker room finishing changing into regular clothes and Luke’s eyes go wide because _holy shit, hockey players are fit_. To avoid staring, Luke trains his eyes on Michael Clifford’s back, but this isn’t exactly the best solution because Luke finds his eyes falling to Michael Clifford’s _ass_ and the way his team track pants stretch across it. 

When Michael Clifford reaches his stall, he turns around to face and Luke’s face flushes and he hopes he hadn’t been caught looking where he shouldn’t be. 

Michael Clifford just smiles, though, and grabs another pair of skates from his stall before handing them to Luke. “I found these for you.”

“Um, I can’t skate,” Luke rushes out, terrified.

“I know, you told me that,” Michael smirks. “I’m going to teach you.”

Luke laughs nervously. “That’s... That’s really nice of you, but no, thanks.”

“You don’t have a choice. If you want your ‘Get To Know Michael Clifford’ session for the day, you’re skating with me!”

Before Luke can protest any further, Michael Clifford gives him a shove so that he falls down onto the bench in front of Michael Clifford’s stall. Michael Clifford begins pulling Luke’s shoes off and replaces them by shoving the skates onto his feet. As he laces them up, one of the remaining men in the locker room gives a wolf whistle. Michael Clifford turns to look at him long enough to extend his middle finger in the air. When Michael Clifford returns to lacing up Luke’s skates, Luke thinks that he can see a bit of blush creeping up the red-head’s cheeks. Luke totally doesn’t feel butterflies in his stomach.

He still _totally_ doesn’t feel the butterflies when Michael Clifford helps him stand up, and wraps an arm around his waist to keep him on his feet. Michael Clifford is helping him out of the locker room and onto the ice, arm never leaving him, and then Luke’s on the slick surface and he’s starting to panic. Michael Clifford is still there, though, hasn’t let go.

Michael Clifford takes Luke’s hands in his own before he pulls him forward a bit. Luke actually _shrieks_.

“It’s okay,” Michael Clifford laughs. “Just focus on holding your balance.”

“I’m going to fall!” Luke yells before he _does_ start to fall. He closes his eyes and waits to hit the ice, but the impact doesn’t come.

“I’ve got you,” he hears Michael Clifford’s voice in his ear. When Luke reopens his eyes, he finds himself in Michael Clifford’s arm and he wants to cry because _how perfect is this_. But then, _no. No. You don’t like this boy._

Michael Clifford keeps his arm around Luke’s waist this time, leading him slowly around the ice until he thinks Luke has the hang of it. He tries to let go, but Luke is latching onto his bicep, so Michael Clifford lets him.

“Um. So. Do you have a girlfriend?” Luke asks shyly. “Um. For the article. Some people might want to know.”

Michael Clifford chuckles. “Nope. Last girlfriend was crazy. Staying away from girls for a while.”

“Um. Boyfriend, then?”

“No,” Michael Clifford says, grin remaining on his face. “Just been waiting for the right person, I guess.”

Luke pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, and he’s _totally_ not praying that Michael Clifford is thinking that _maybe Luke is the right person_.

“How... How will you know, when the right person comes along?” Luke asks. Now they’ve stopped skating and they stand still on the ice, face-to-face.

Michael Clifford takes a small step forward, towards Luke. “I knew.”

And Luke’s head is suddenly full of everything because _he knew? Knew what? Knew that I’m the right person?_ And then Luke swears that Michael Clifford is leaning in and he can’t stop staring at this boy’s pretty red lips and _oh god, is he going to kiss me? He’s going to kiss me. Oh my god, I can’t kiss an athlete. I can’t like an athlete. What would everyone else think?_

And, Michael Clifford _is_ leaning in. Luke’s slowly shutting his eyes and giving up because he really wants to kiss Michael Clifford.

But then Michael Clifford is whipping his head back. “We should go. They’ll be shutting off the lights in here soon.” However, he still wraps a loose arm around Luke’s waist and leads him off of the ice and into the locker room. He leaves Luke to untie his own skates, though.

-

**October 9th**

They had both tried to forget the almost-kiss. (Luke had spent all night thinking about it, wondering if maybe he was just crazy and Michael Clifford had not been about to kiss him at all.) (Michael Clifford had spent all night wondering if Luke would’ve kissed him back.)

Luke’s only a little (totally) giddy when he gets a text from Michael Clifford at lunchtime asking if he wants to come over to his dorm before tonight’s game.

-

And, of course Luke ends up outside of Michael Clifford’s dorm room. The door is open, but Luke stands awkwardly in the doorway. Michael Clifford has his back turned to him and doesn’t realize he’s arrived. He’s facing the television, some video game with shooting is displayed on screen.

“Um, hi,” Luke says softly.

Michael Clifford spins around in the desk chair he’s seated in. Luke doesn’t miss the way a huge smile spreads across his face. “Luke, hey. Wanna join?”

Luke nods and Michael Clifford pulls his roommate’s empty desk chair in front of the television beside his own. He hands Luke a controller. 

Luke isn’t _that_ bad at the game. (Okay, he’s really bad.) But, Michael Clifford tries to give him pointers and Luke finally gets a kill.

Michael Clifford pauses the game and cheers, giving Luke a high five. Then, they are sat there, looking at each other.

“You should, uh, come to the game tonight,” Michael Clifford says, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh, I would but, I don’t have anything to wear. I don’t have too much school spirit, I guess,” Luke laughs nervously.

“Well, you could... you could wear one of my jerseys?”

Luke’s cheeks go pink and he’s scolding himself because _no, he’s just offering because he wants you at the game and he only wants you at the game because he wants the arena to sell out._ But, Luke smiles shyly and squeaks out, “Sure.”

So, Michael Clifford stands up and walks over to the wardrobe. He pulls out a white jersey with red accents, the university’s logo on the front, ‘Clifford’ and number 92 on the back. 

Michael Clifford hands it to Luke and tells him, “It’s my away jersey, the one I’m wearing tonight is red. But it’ll still work.”

Luke can only smile up at Michael Clifford, feeling _completely_ like a teenage girl. 

-

“I just talked to Ashton, he’s one of the student trainers. He has the night off, though, so he said he’d be happy to sit with you, if you want,” Michael Clifford says as he drives himself and Luke to the arena. It’s well before game-time, but Michael Clifford has to be there early for warm-ups. “He’s already here, too. He’s dating another guy on the team and they have this, uh, _pre-game ritual_ that I won’t get into.”

“That sounds fine. I don’t want to be that awkward kid sitting alone,” Luke replies.

Michael Clifford parks his SUV and then he’s leading Luke across the mostly empty lot towards the large arena. He scans his ID and then opens the door, holding it for Luke.

“Thanks,” Luke murmurs, blushing again and then, _no, stop, you don’t even like Michael Clifford._

Luke enters into the familiar hallway, walking with Michael Clifford at his side. They approach the locker room door and Luke isn’t sure where he was expecting to go, but he was definitely not expecting Michael Clifford to hold the locker room door open for him, too.

“Um, are you sure I’m allowed in there?” Luke asks.

Michael laughs. “Do you know who I am?”

Luke rolls his eyes, but smiles, and walks into the room in front of Michael Clifford. 

No one seems to pay him much attention, only some shouting of ‘ _hey, Clifford!’_ as Michael Clifford crosses the room beside Luke. Everyone seems to be in conversation, even though there is _loud_ rap music blaring.

He pulls his sweatshirt over his head and throws it in the stall with the name plaque ‘Clifford 92’ above it. To the right of his stall, there sits a shirtless man with tan skin and dark hair, a few tattoos - ‘Hood 18’. ‘Hood’ has his legs spread and another guy, this one with curly brown hair with natural, honey-colored highlights, stands between them. ‘Hood’ has his hands on the waist of the guy standing in front of him, and the standing man with the curly hair is giggling.

“Ash,” Michael Clifford shouts over the music. 

The curly haired man in front of ‘Hood’ jerks his head to look at Michael Clifford.

“This is Luke,” he points his thumb back towards where Luke is standing, stiff and awkward.

‘Ash’ looks to Luke and then breaks out in a huge smile, complete with blindingly white teeth and dimples. He moves from in front of ‘Hood’, causing the player to groan in complaint. 

“Hi, I’m Ashton,” he introduces, sticking his hand out.

“Luke.” Luke shakes his hand.

“And this is Calum,” Ashton says, falling back so that he’s sitting on one of Calum’s legs and wrapping his arms around Calum’s neck.

Calum winds one arm around Ashton’s waist and extends the other out to Luke. Luke shakes his hand as well, and Luke thinks he’s starting to understand what Michael Clifford had meant when he said these two have a ‘pre-game ritual’. Luke _definitely_ doesn’t absentmindedly wonder if Michael Clifford would be up for his own pre-game ritual with Luke.

“Do you want to go get a hot dog or some popcorn or something? The snack vendors are usually open by now,” Ashton suggests.

“Sure,” Luke agrees.

Ashton stands from Calum’s lap and Calum whines, tries to pull him back down. Ashton swats at him and giggles before leaning back down and giving Calum a long kiss.

Luke blushes and to avoid staring, he looks to Michael Clifford, finding Michael Clifford looking back. Michael Clifford looks away, and Luke can swear he’s sees the same pink rising on his cheeks that had appeared on Luke’s.

“Um,” Luke tries. “Good luck tonight.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Michael Clifford says quietly, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, apparently adopting the habit from Luke.

Then, Ashton’s gently grabbing Luke’s arm and pulling him out of the locker room, looking back once to blow a kiss to Calum.

 

“So, you and Mikey, huh?”

“What?” Luke thinks he’s misheard Ashton.

They are walking through the arena. Luke’s holding a soda in one hand and a plate of nachos in the other as they head to their seats, although there’s still about 45 minutes until game time.

“You’re dating, right?”

“What?” Luke repeats dumbly.

“Oh. Well, you’re wearing his jersey, so...”

“No. No, it’s just because I didn’t have anything else to wear.”

“You want to date him, though, right?”

“What? No.”

“Why have you been blushing all night, then?”

“We’re not even really friends,” Luke says (totally not sadly).

“I’ve never seen Mikey let someone else wear his jersey before. You are definitely, _at least_ , friends.”

And Luke _so_ does not smile at that.

-

The game is going well. It’s the second period, almost halfway through the game, and Calum had scored a goal, putting the team up 1-0. Ashton had been trying to explain everything to Luke, but all Luke was focused on was watching Michael Clifford’s body skating from end-to-end of the ice.

That’s when time slows for Luke. It’s not that he senses the horror that’s about to happen. In fact, his hands are shaking because Michael Clifford has the puck and is skating towards the goalie at full-speed. Luke thinks he’s about to score. But, then there’s the burgundy jersey of the rival player and he’s right on Michael Clifford’s back. The other player reaches his stick out to knock the puck away from Michael Clifford, and then all Luke can see is number 92, seemingly slowly, falling to the ice and slamming into the boards. Luke sees it frame-by-frame - Michael Clifford’s head colliding with the sturdy boards before it snaps back as his body tries to continue forward.

The arena erupts in gasps and then falls to eery silence. Luke is on his feet and Ashton is on his, clutching the arm of Luke’s - _Michael’s_ \- jersey.

Michael Clifford’s teammates surround him and then the trainers are coming onto the ice and then Michael Clifford’s limp body is being lifted off of the ice. 

Luke can’t move, can’t even _breathe_ and _why is he feeling this way?_ Luke and Michael Clifford aren’t even _friends._ But, when Ashton yanks on Luke’s sleeve and starts to jog to an exit, Luke follows.

Ashton is practically running through the arena, and Luke is thankful for his long legs right now. They head down some stairs where security blocks off the hallway leading to the locker room. The move when they recognize Ashton and he latches back onto Luke to let security know that _Luke is with him._

At the end of the hallway, the doors to the outside are being held open and an ambulance is backed up against them. Ashton and Luke take off running as Michael Clifford and the stretcher are being lifted into the emergency vehicle. Luke stops a ways back, afraid of what he might see. Ashton, however, keeps running until a body steps out in front of him.

“Ash, stop,” asserts the man blocking Ashton’s way. He’s got on a polo like the other trainers. “I know you’re close to him, this isn’t something you should see.”

Luke slowly approaches Ashton, who has fallen to his knees on the ground, as a man shuts the ambulance doors and the vehicle begins to drive off, sirens blaring.

“C’mon,” Luke whispers to Ashton, this man that he’d just met a couple of hours ago. “We can go to the hospital.”

-

When they’d gotten to the hospital, Ashton had shown his ID and told the nurses that he was a trainer for the team, but they had rejected it and told him that he’d have to wait to see his friend.

So, Luke sits on a small couch in the waiting area, Ashton curled up into his side, as they wait for any updates on Michael Clifford. They are sitting for just over an hour before they hear footsteps running down the hospital hallway. Calum appears around the corner and comes to a halt when he sees Ashton and Luke. 

Calum drops to his knees in front of Ashton and places a hand on the curly-haired boy’s thigh.

“Do you know anything yet?”

Ashton shakes his head. Calum gets up and positions himself on Ashton’s unoccupied side. He wraps his arm around the man and Ashton responds by lying his head against Calum’s shoulder.

Soon after, the waiting room starts filling with Michael Clifford’s other teammates.

-

A doctor in a white coat comes out into the waiting room three hours after Ashton and Luke had first arrived.

“Michael Clifford?” the doctor announces.

Everyone stands up, except for Luke - Calum, Ashton, and all of the teammates.

“I have an update for you all.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually awful, I'm sorry. I had such high hopes for this and I felt like I couldn't deliver. :(


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael Clifford becomes _Michael_.

“Michael is awake and in stable condition. I must warn you, though, that memory loss is apparent. We’re not sure about the severity of it yet, but it may only be temporary. It’s not advisable for all of you to bombard him at once, but I am aware that...” the doctor looks down at his clipboard. “Mr. Irwin? You are a close friend?”

Ashton nods quickly, his death grip on Calum’s arm tightening. “And Calum. We’re his best friends.”

“Perhaps you two can draw him out of the memory loss. Be gentle, though.”

The doctor turns around and walks away from them. A few of the other team members sit back down, but most of them start to leave the waiting room. It’s getting late, and now that they know Michael Clifford is okay, Luke can’t blame them for heading home.

Calum grabs Ashton’s hand, intertwines their fingers, and they start down the hospital hallway towards Michael Clifford’s room.

A few minutes go by, and then a middle-aged man with greying hair sits down on the couch beside Luke.

“So, you’re the kid that was doing the article on Clifford, eh?” the man asks.

Luke nods slowly. “Luke. Hemmings.”

“I’m Tom Foss, Clifford’s coach.”

Luke doesn’t respond, because what’s he supposed to say? _Nice to meet you_? It’s not nice - the only reason they are meeting now is because Michael Clifford is injured and in the hospital.

“You two seemed to be getting pretty close,” the coach says.

“I had an assignment to do,” Luke shrugs. He’s trying to convince himself that he’s _not friends with Michael Clifford_ because maybe this situation will be easier if they are strictly aquaninstences. 

“Well, he seemed to take quite a liking to you, wouldn’t shut up about you before the game tonight,” the older man laughs. “Maybe you should go in with Hood and Ashton.”

Luke looks at him, searching for signs of sarcasm. He doesn’t find any. “No. I mean, I’m probably not the person he wants to see most right now. He’d probably rather see you.”

“Go on, kid.”

So, Luke slowly brings himself to his feet. He starts down the hallway, checking every room number. The hallway isn’t _that_ long, but it feels like an eternity before Luke is standing in front of Michael Clifford’s room. He takes a deep breathe and opens the door.

Luke was hoping, praying, that he’d walk into the room and there would be the three boys smiling and laughing and being best friends again. That isn’t what Luke sees, though.

The first thing Luke sees is Calum on the right side of the hospital bed and Ashton on the left side of it. They each have one of Michael Clifford’s hand held in one of their own. They aren’t talking to Michael Clifford, aren’t even looking at him. Calum and Ashton are looking at each other but turn their gazes to Luke when they hear him enter the room. Then, Luke sees Michael Clifford. He looks small, and more pale than usual. He’s lying in the hospital bed, covered in blankets. He has a brace around his neck. His face is blank, no happiness, but no pain.

Luke moves to the foot of the bed and Michael Clifford’s eyes meet his.

“Um. Hi.”

“Hello,” Michael Clifford replies. Luke watches his face as it goes from expressionless to _hurt_ , a mixture of anger and sadness, in a matter of seconds, his eyebrows pulling together. “Who are you?”

Luke doesn’t expect Michael Clifford to know who he is, if he’s lost his memory, why would he remember Luke? Luke still feels a twang of pain. He looks down to the boys at Michael Clifford’s sides and sees that they are once again looking at each other. Calum’s taken his free hand, arm resting over Michael Clifford’s legs, and is now holding Ashton’s hand surely. 

“I’m Luke,” he says and tries to smile, but this isn’t a happy atmosphere.

“Here, sit,” Ashton murmurs softly before getting up and moving to sit in Calum’s lap on the other side of the bed. 

Luke takes Ashton’s deserted chair and, without thinking, slips his hand into Michael Clifford’s hand that had also been deserted by Ashton. Luke can feel his cheeks heating up because _oh my god, I’m holding Michael Clifford’s hand_. But, then, Michael Clifford pulls his hand back. Luke is terrified for a moment, thinks he’s already screwed up, but then he feels the cold hand brushing the side of his face. Michael Clifford is touching Luke’s cheek, which only affirms that he’s noticed Luke blushing.

“I know you,” Michael Clifford whispers, and then shockingly shouts, “I _know_ I know you!” And then he’s crying.

Luke can tell that Ashton is about to get emotional too, judging by the way he hides his face in Calum’s neck as Calum begins to rub his back. Luke needs to calm everyone down. He takes Michael hand back between both of his own and gently smooths over it with his thumbs.

“Um. Yeah. Yeah, do you- What if I tell you some things?”

Michael seems to relax at that.

“Um, yesterday, you took me skating,” Luke starts and looks down where his hand is clasping Michael Clifford’s and he smiles a little, remembering the moment. “Um, I didn’t know how to skate. I mean, I _still_ don’t know how. But, um, you got me skates. And you took me onto the ice and you didn’t let me fall. And you helped me skate around a little and now I’m not so scared.”

“Luke?” Michael Clifford whimpers.

“Yeah,” Luke reassures, thinking that Michael Clifford was just wanting to confirm that ‘Luke’ was his name.

But, then Michael Clifford is reaching his hand back up to Luke’s face and cupping his cheek and Luke can feel the prickling feeling behind his eyes, knowing that he’s going to start crying in a moment.

“Luke,” Michael Clifford repeats, eyebrows coming together again, this time in confusion. 

And Luke nods, catching onto Michael’s realization, before he lets the tears fall from his eyes. He hears Ashton let out a choked off noise and knows that he’s recognizing what’s happening too.

“Do... Do you remember?” Luke whispers.

Michael’s face pulls back into the expressionless state it was in when Luke first entered the room. Luke’s eyes widen, because _no, he doesn’t remember_. But then, Michael’s grinning.

“Nope. Maybe if you kissed me it would jog my memory, though.”

“ _God_ , you’re such an asshole,” Ashton says and wipes at the tears on his own cheeks.

Michael’s laughing until he realizes that Luke really _is_ leaning over him, hands on the pillow at each side of his head, carefully angling himself so that this kiss won’t mess with the brace holding Michael’s neck straight. Then, it happens. Luke gently places his lips over Michael’s. His lips are cold and smooth in contrast to Luke’s which are warm and bitten apart. Luke pulls back and the kiss is over just as quickly as it had started.

“I almost _died,_ and that’s all I get?” Michael whines.

So Luke smiles and goes in for another kiss. This time, he slots his lips against Michael’s, teasing the red-haired boy by denying his advances when Michael tries to slip his tongue into Luke’s mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says this time when Luke pulls away. “For not doing that last night.”

Luke opens his mouth to accept the apology when he hears a moan coming from the other side of the bed. He and Michael both turn to look at the couple who are now engaged in a _heavy_ make out session, complete with Ashton grinding down into Calum’s lap.

“ _Damn_ , I _just_ remember who you are and you’ve already forgotten about me.

“You two are hot together,” Calum explains. “Can’t blame me for wanting some of my own.”

Ashton giggles and stands up, pulling Calum up with him. “We’ll go find a nurse.”

They hurry out of the room and Luke and Michael don’t miss it when Calum grabs at Ashton’s ass just before the door shuts.

“They’re going to fuck in the bathroom before they get a nurse, aren’t they?” Michael sighs.

“You’re just as bad! Oh, ‘ _I could’ve died, but who cares? Kiss me!_ ’” Luke mocks.

“Are you complaining?”

“No,” Luke blushes.

“Then, kiss me again,” Michael says, joking tone gone.

“You haven’t even taken me out on a date yet.”

“Uh, I bought you pizza? I took you skating? What do you call that?”

“So, you like to talk about yourself the entire time on all of your dates?”

“Fine. Tell me about yourself,” Michael crosses his arms over his chest.

“What?”

“Well, you know a lot about me, but I don’t know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Why do you hate athletes?”

This really isn’t how he wanted to start out a potential relationship with Michael, but he figures that if this _is_ a potential relationship, he should be honest.

“In high school... I had gym class with a lot of the guys on the football team. They didn’t think it was cool that they had to shower in front of a _fag_ so they bullied me a lot. And they got the rest of the team to bully me, and the swim team, and the volleyball team. I guess when you spend four years being absolutely grilled by a bunch of athletes, you grow to hate them.”

“And you thought I would judge you?”

“I didn’t know you!” Luke exclaims, and then quieter adds, “I still don’t really know you. Maybe this is all a mistake. I should go.”

Luke goes to leave the room and Michael tries to grab him, but his neck brace keeps him from moving too much. “No, Luke! Please. Don’t go.”

Luke sighs and turns his attention back to Michael. “I just... We’re moving a little fast. I mean, I hadn’t even talked to you until a week ago. We shouldn’t be kissing already. I shouldn’t be wanting to kiss you _this bad_ already.”

“Okay,” Michael nods slowly. “Then... When I get out of the hospital, I’m taking you out.”

Luke smirks. “Who said I wanted to go out with you?”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Go find a nurse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy that some of you liked the last chapter! Thank you for you comments and kudos! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**October 15th**

Luke turns his article in and he’s so, so happy. It’s perfect this time, and Luke _knows_ it’s perfect, knows that now everyone is going to see the real Michael.  
****

And now, Luke is going to pick up Michael for their first official date tonight. It’s the first time Luke will see Michael since he was released from the hospital yesterday, and Luke’s driving (they’re taking _his_ car for once) since Michael still has a small brace around his neck (that Luke is _totally_ going to tease him about).

Luke pulls up outside of Michael’s dorm, prepared to get out until he sees Michael’s already waiting on the sidewalk. He’s not smiling, though, and he’s hunched over a bit. He doesn’t look like Michael. Even his fiery red hair looks dull. He hurries to open the car door so that Luke doesn’t have to, and then he slips into the seat.

“Hey,” Luke says and smiles softly.

“Hi,” Michael grunts.

“You alright?”

Michael nods.

Luke doesn’t believe him, obviously, but he figures that the beginning of their first date isn’t the best time to interrogate Michael, so Luke heads off towards the restaurant.

 

Michael is still quiet and even a little grumpy throughout dinner. So, when they finish their dessert, Luke can’t help but ask what’s going on with him.

“It’s _nothing_ ,” Michael insists.

Luke nudges Michael’s leg with his foot underneath of the table. Michael doesn’t budge, so Luke full-on _kicks_ Michael’s leg.

“Fine! Jeez. I talked to the team doctors today.”

“Oh,” Luke replies quietly. “You can’t...play? For the rest of the season?”

Michael laughs sarcastically. “I wish it were only that bad.”

And Luke feels bad for prying, bad for making Michael come on this shitty date in the first place. He reaches for Michael’s hands, but the the red-haired boy pulls his hands out of Luke’s reach.

“I can’t...I can’t even _skate_ , Luke.”

“For how long? I mean, did they say when you can start skating again?”

“No, Luke. _I can’t skate_. They cleared me to skate and I _couldn’t do it_.”

“What do you mean?” Luke asks, eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

“I couldn’t fucking move when I got on the ice!” Michael shouts, causing some other diners in the restaurant to turn and look at him.

“Let’s get out of here,” Luke says, flagging down the waiter to get their bill.

 

“Where’re we going?” Michael questions after they leave the restaurant and Luke takes a detour from the route towards campus.

“Can we get into the arena?”

“We should be able to... Why? What are you doing?”

Luke looks at Michael and smiles before turning back to focus on the road in front of him.

“Luke?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Then, Luke’s pulling into the arena’s lot and parking the car. He and Michael get out of the vehicle and Michael scans his ID at the door, holding the door for Luke. Luke leads the way to the locker room and waits for Michael to turn on the lights.

“Do you know where I could find a pair of spare skates?” Luke asks.

“What? What do you need skates for?”

Luke sighs dramatically. “I’m going to teach you how to skate!”

“Luke, no. I can’t skate!”

“Where have I heard that before? Oh, right. _I_ said that a week ago, and you made me do it anyway.”

Michael sticks his bottom lip out and pouts, but reaches for his skates. Luke rummages around the room until he finds a pair in his size.

They head out of the locker room once they both of their laces tied, arms locked together because Luke still has no idea how to _walk_ in skates. 

They stop when they reach the ice, the rink almost pitch black.

“Um, I forgot about these lights,” Luke mumbles.

“Oh, well, guess we’ll have to do this another time!” Michael exclaims, happy to have an excuse to stay off of the ice.

“No! Give me your cell phone.”

So Michael hands over his cell phone and Luke pulls his own out. Luke turns on the camera flashes on both phones and sets them, flashes facing up, on the bench. 

“Good enough!” Luke smiles victoriously at the small amount of light that's barely illuminating the large space.

“Fine,” Michael rolls his eyes as Luke grabs his hands and pulls him forward. “But if you get handsy with me...” Michael trails off when he realizes that Luke has got him on the ice.

“It’s okay,” Luke reassures, remembering what Michael had said to him when he’d gotten Luke onto the ice for the first time. “Just focus.”

Michael lets Luke pull him forward a little bit. They are clinging to each other, both afraid of falling. And although Michael is a bit wobbly, and quite frankly terrified, he ends up leading Luke around for a few moments before Luke’s skates slip out from under him. Luke tumbles to the ice and an unprepared Michael is pulled down with him.

So they end up on their backs, on the ice, giggling hysterically. When they settle down, they lie in silence, staring up at the dark arena ceiling. And maybe Michael reaches his hand out to take hold of Luke’s.

“I’m a journalism major,” Luke says after a while.

“Huh?”

“I want to write for Rolling Stone one day. I love music.” Luke’s trying to make up for all of things that Michael doesn’t know about him. “I play guitar.”

“Really?” Michael asked, slightly amazed. He rolls his head to the side to look at Luke, who is still gazing at the ceiling above them. Luke nods. “I used to play too.”

“You’ll have to play with me sometime then,” Luke smiles.

Michael bursts out laughing again and wiggles his eyebrows when Luke looks at him. “You want to play with me, huh?”

Luke pulls his hand out of Michael’s and uses it to slap the red-haired boy on the chest. “Maybe. But, my balls are about to freeze off so let’s get out of here.”

“ _Lucas Hemmings_ ,” Michael gasps. “Are you trying to get in my pants? I don’t _do_ sex on the first date.”

Luke rolls his eyes. But, after they get their skates off and get back out to Luke’s car, they end up making out in the backseat (because Michael never said anything about kissing on the first date).

-

**January 7th**

It’s the first time Luke has been in the locker room before a game since the night of Michael’s injury, and it’s the first time Michael’s been gearing up for an _actual game_ since that night, too.  
****

Ashton had driven them to the arena, along with Calum, but the other couple had taken off for their ‘pre-game ritual’, leaving Michael and Luke walking into the locker room by themselves, hand-in-hand. 

There are a couple of wolf whistles from the other players in the room, and Luke ducks to hide his blushing face behind Michael’s shoulder. Michael pulls away, though, but he’s smiling at Luke. He stops walking, causing Luke to stop as well, before he’s weaving his fingers into Luke’s hair at the back of his head. He pulls Luke into him before pressing their lips together in full display for the rest of the locker room. Michael pulls away with a dramatic, wet _pop_ and Luke’s pretty sure his entire body is blushing pink so he buries his head in Michael’s neck. Luke is considerably taller than Michael and therefor has to bend over to get his face against Michael’s neck, it looks pretty ridiculous, causing some of the guys around them snicker.

Ashton and Calum burst through the doors of the locker room, both immediately joining in singing with the song currently playing through the speakers.

“Mikey! Your mom is out there waiting for her date!” Ashton yells.

“I should probably go, then,” Luke says. Ashton was working with the team tonight, but Michael’s mom had driven to town for the game, so Luke would be sitting with her. “Good luck.”

“Wait!” Michael grabs Luke’s arm when he turns to leave the room.

He pulls the blond boy back against him and presses their lips together again.

“M’kay, I’m going now,” Luke smiles against Michael’s lips.

Michael makes a whining noise and pulls Luke into another kiss. 

“Mikey, I need to go,” Luke laughs.

“One more,” Michael promises and steals one last kiss. “Okay, okay. I’ll see you after the game.”

Luke gives him another quick peck and turns to leave again.

“Luke,” Michael stops him again.

Luke pretends to glare at him, but can’t keep the smile off of his face.

Michael presses a kiss on Luke’s jaw, just under his ear and whispers, “I love you.” But, then he’s pulling back and walking over to his stall to change into his gear, not giving Luke a chance to respond.

Luke stands in place, eyes wide and staring at Michael. Michael smirks at him as he pulls his shirt over his head. Luke’s blushing _again_ and smiling like a fool. 

“Get outta here!” Ashton shouts, pushing Luke towards the door.

 

The third period ends, buzzer ringing throughout the rink. The game is tied at 2-2 and the teams are preparing to enter overtime. Michael’s game has been a bit off, but that’s only to be expected considering it’s his first game back. Michael’s mom keeps assuring Luke that he’s fine and he’ll bounce back to the same, old Michael in the next game. 

Michael’s skating around the ice, trying to stay warmed-up for overtime, and his eyes are scanning the crowd. Luke knows it’s stupid to think that Michael would be able to see him in the sold-out crowd tonight, but Michael’s eyes finally stop searching, stopping on Luke. Another buzzer sounds, signaling overtime is about to start, and Michael _winks_ at Luke.

27 seconds later, Michael Clifford scores the game winning goal.

Luke and Michael’s mother jump to their feet, along with the entire crowd. Everyone is screaming as Michael’s teammates tackle him on the ice.

Luke escorts Michael’s mom to her car once the arena clears out some, promising that he and Michael would meet her at the pizza place across town soon. Then, he heads back into the arena and makes his way to the locker room. He pushes the door open, music _blasting_ and hockey players jumping around with post-win adrenaline. 

When Michael sees him, he races across the room and throws his arms around Luke’s waist, dragging him into another kiss. Luke doesn’t pull away so quick this time, wrapping his arms around Michael’s neck and letting their tongues tangle together for a moment.

“Hey,” Luke whispers.

“Hm?”

“I love you, too.”

Michael grins. “ _Lucas Hemmings_. Are you just saying that so you can get into my pants tonight?”

Luke rolls his eyes, but gives Michael another kiss, because _god,_ he really does love this athlete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! :)  
> Find me on [tumblr](http://notcashton.tumblr.com). :)


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